#my chest aches too

[raspberryspace]

I hope you can accept who I am. I forever will always accept you as you are.

I’m tired of trying to string together some semblance of my current emotions only to be met with nothing. I’m tired of fighting myself. I’m tired of crying in my car. I can only claw at the hope that you never felt like I intentionally did this. I only ever wanted to reciprocate the feelings I had so deep within from one soul to another. You opened and grew my world as I know it. you irreplaceably shaped the goals and values I carry on today. I wanted and will always want to repay that. To reciprocate that pure partnership. Yet I own up and know just how fucking bad my naivety and unawareness was. I never wanted that. I only ever wanted the connection. I was so lonely and latched on to anything. I’m so sorry it had to be you. Im so sorry. I just want that love back it was never out of obligation. Ever. I was going through so much. I have cried over it too much to not second guess and fight this hard for it. I want it back so fucking badly. And I know it’s not the memories pushing this, it’s what created them. I know so many external factors plagued you. I know you made that decision. I just want to make sure it was truly the right one. But that’s just what I want. If I’m selfish then so be it but I want that back for the both of us. That feeling of finding that perfect puzzle piece that fits. My gut wrenches away at me daily- desperately trying to get me to not let go. To not give up. I want to work on this. I, I, I. I, am so fucking stupid. You’ve shown me through actions that you don’t want to talk. I can’t change any of that. I can only type these vague posts into the ether praying that you read them. I’m tired. I never wanted to do you wrong. I can’t ever ask for your forgiveness. I just want to ask if we can try to heal this. My chest aches for you too. I miss you profoundly. You paint the stars overhead every night. I just want to support you and serve you water when you’re thirsty late at night. I want to drive you around while you knit. Wah. I need to be present and in the moment for myself. I need to pour myself a glass of water. I’m grateful to have myself to do that. I’m glad I hold onto the values I have. It’s okay to give too much.

I can’t justify anything I just wish you would hear me.

There isn’t anything in this life worth fighting more over than this. I can’t shake this feeling that’s so rooted within me. I cant let this fall to the wayside.

It wasn’t your fault, I know why you had to do it. Can we start again?

God it feels like it just happened two days ago

Hate being bombarded with all these narratives on how to act or what to do, every single relationship is such a unique set of circumstances. Not everything is just block and ghost. No wonder people find it so difficult these days. No one fights for perfection, you adopt each others flaws and perfect them.

The people that you’re meant to have in your life won’t need persuading or convincing.

I’m ignorant to the fact that if you wanted to text me you would. But I want to text

You because I miss you. But you don’t. You don’t miss me. You don’t express that at least.

Music that makes you dance a little bit in your seat on a long drive is something to smile at.

My heart will always skip a beat for you, missing you next to us as we grow and discover this world. You’ll always be in my heart. At every corner of the globe. I won’t sit back and wait- there are places I want to see before I die. It hurts me like no other that I have to go without you, but rest assured I’m taking pictures for you. Taking pictures of you there. Taking pictures.

I wish I could go back and do so many things over again. I wish I wish I wish I wish.

What made you believe it wasn’t truly genuine, it wasn’t truly from the depths of my heart. What made it selfish to me? I think that’s what hurts the most. That and we were just starting. We just closed the distance and we’re going to begin the greatest journey of our life. Together. Just gone. Gone with no hesitation. A pro and con list. That also will forever stay with me.

Who knew spoiling myself with trips and cool clothes would make me sort of happy. Not a fulfilling as treating someone else, I don’t think my personality allows that to ever be the case unfortunately. I do love women’s wear so much though, I want to dress someone up.

I became secure and confident within our space, left to expose the insecurities and issues. Now I feel so lost.

You’ve always had to be patient when dealing with my emotions - I hope you’ve noticed my change in dealing with them. I’m a bit faster now, I’m standing up for the little guy in me more that’s for sure. I wish I could tell you all that I’ve been reflecting on. I know you probably don’t want to hear it.

I hope you’ll remember me on a sad day when you really need it. I hate that you’re alone. I hate that you’re feeling so lonely. I wished you a community I wish that you had that group there for you. I tried to hard to make sure I never got in the way of you making and finding that group, I was so sad the night you went out on Halloween. You never invited me you never asked. I had to close down the part that wanted to ask you to consider me. Jealousy and my own value came up and overwhelmed me. I just wanted you to be happy with your friends. I tried to front it out. I know that was a mistake on my end - I should have expressed what I was feeling. But I tired to show it when I dropped it all to be there for the pick up. I tried to show it with how accommodating I was. I hate that I did that to myself. I’m sorry.

Went hiking, wish you were here. I fell while walking barefoot in a stream before the waterfall, bruised my hip - reminds me of falling off my skateboard again. Kinda made me smile again. Only 11 miles, small change compared to the walking done in Japan… I’m jumping and ready to keep doing more but my friends are tired kinda sucks.

I miss you. I wish I could hold you.

[ratfreecog]

I know it’s 3 am and this is my own fault but feeling so sick over pony and johnny right now oh my god how do I even deal with this they meant so much to each other they would literally kill for each other I actually can’t handle it thinking about them on the train to Windrixville wondering if they’re all they’ll ever have ever again. Johnny letting Pony sleep in his lap even though it made his legs fall asleep because he knew he needed it. Thinking about how they always dreamed and planned of running away together and having their own little place in the country and being their own family but then actually being forced into that in the most horrific way possible, and in the most twisted way, only having each other like they always wished for. I’m actually so ill about them they deserved so much better they need a happy ending where they live in a little cottage with their fire and featherbed and easy garden with the homegrown plant on the windowsill. Where Johnny gets to grow up and Pony gets to have his best friend always by his side and they get to discover themselves together and have the chance to live and do everything they always wanted. Where Pony gets out and Johnny can follow him and everything just finally for once in their lives okay they deserve that at the very least

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

words will never be able to express just how much solace and comfort the submarine soundtrack brings me 💙

[sentientsky]

"I forgive you." It came out like a blood clot—like an artery dripping gore—like an oil spill. Crowley felt his shoulders rise, fall, fall, fall. The air between them hummed, the tension of six thousand years turning every atom electrified and silently screaming. Breath shuddered out of him, human and terrible and hollowing. He had never been more grateful for the swallowing darkness of his glasses, for the way they hid the centuries of pre-emptive grief and wicked terror. The air was suffocating, the once familiar bookshop turned catacomb.

And then, hating himself for it but seeing no other way forward, he spoke the words aloud. "Don't bother". And then he was out in the middle of Soho and the breeze was harsh against his too-warm skin. Stepping out into the sun felt like rising to the surface of some great ocean—the gasping, desperate feeling in his lungs, the sudden crash of noise. A woman across the street called for her wife. A car horn. A dog barking. Laughter, cruel and far-off. He pulled breath into lungs that didn't need it, winced as he felt slivers of cold drive into the soft flesh of his throat.

So that was it; five and a half million years of want and need and burning, aching somedays, cyphered pleas for "our side". All gone in the space between shaking half-breaths and a kiss still seared against his lips.

Fuck it.

He'd ruined it the first time, had forced them both to look directly into the sun, to face the thing they'd been dancing around for the better part of six millennia. He could do better—would do better. At a music café some years ago, a human had been playing the piano—something soft and slow. A jazz number, if the demon remembered correctly. But the remarkable thing wasn’t the song itself, but that they were playing it with their eyes closed. Aziraphale had pointed this fact out to Crowley, excitement lilting in his voice (even then, the sound had thrilled him, sent a stab of warmth through his heart). It was only after the final note reverberated through the room that the artist opened their eyes, blinking in the sudden rush of stage lights. Aziraphale, ever the music connoisseur, approached the musician. The pianist had explained that, for them, reading music never came easy. Rather, they learned by touch, by the way the keys felt on their fingertips. In fact, the only way they could play a song was with their eyes closed. If they watched their hands as they played or thought too hard about their next move, they got confused and tripped over the notes. Muscle memory, they’d said.  It was muscle memory—the galactic familiarity of finding the space between seconds and prying—that guided Crowley now. He hadn’t done it since Not-Armageddon, but it came easily to him just the same. Time, you see, operates kind of like sound, like music; it loops and sways and carries forward in waves. If you know where to look (as the demon did), you can disrupt the flow, send it back towards the shore. 

And this was what Crowley did now. Drawing his hands through the ripples of minutes and seconds and hours and millennia, time stilled around him. It was natural. Easy, like breathing or sleeping. Or loving Aziraphale.  Slowly, the world turned backwards; humans retreating from whence they came, cars driving in reverse, the wind blowing in the opposite direction. If Heaven had taken notice of their "half-a-miracle", Crowley expected them to be able to see this from every edge of the universe. He likely only had one shot at this.

The world aligned itself once more, and time returned to its regular, steady gait—a rubber band snapping back into place. Something hummed in Crowley’s chest. Something bright and burning and the shape of a neutron star.  Hands shaking, he reached for the handle of the bookshop and pushed. The bell above the door rang, clear and and too-loud in the morning air. Aziraphale whirled around, a trembling half-smile on his face. Oh. Oh, somebody, this was going to be harder than he thought. It felt like all the oxygen, all the courage, had been punched clear out of him "Crowley!" A beat, a shuddering breath. "Angel". He pressed his still-trembling hands into his pockets and strode forward. "Oh, Crowley, dear, I've been looking for you. I have excellent news." His stomach did a little flip, something deep within him growing hollow and fearful. "We have to talk," he managed to choke out around the heart still lodged in his throat. "Yes, I quite think we do. I have something to tell you." Aziraphale strode forward, all grins and beauty like a flickering star, all plasma and heat. He could practically feel the agitated warmth roll off of his angel. Crowley shivered. "I just met with the Meta—” "No. Wait," the demon held up a hand, pausing the rushing torrent of Aziraphale’s words. "Just let me say my thing, please." "My dear boy, just—oh, what is that lovely human expression—"

"Hold that thought," Crowley muttered. His eyes burned behind his glasses. Aziraphale looked pleasantly taken aback.

"Yes, how did you know? I—" "No." The angel's eyebrows crinkled in confusion. "No?" "No," he repeated, enunciating each letter with perfect clarity. He was going to do it right this time. He was going to keep him from leaving. He could be good. Right? "I’m gonna speak, and I want you to listen to me without interrupting, m'kay?" Words were building in the basin of his sternum now, pushing up on his airways. He was going to have to say it outright this time; no more waltzing around this frenzied galaxy of emotion. Willing his hands to steadiness, he pulled his glasses from his face, and tucked them into the collar of his shirt. Aziraphale's breath seemed to catch for a moment, meeting the ferocity of the demon's gaze head-on. A deer in headlights. And then, "Crowley, I really—" (Eons hurtled through his mind in a split second, the serrated knife's-edge of want like a being all its own. Aziraphale in the garden. Aziraphale in the tavern, on the cliffside, on the West End stage, in the Bentley, in the bookshop, in the very marrow of Crowley’s bones.) "I love you," he rasped, ichor writhing in his veins.

There, he'd said it., said it fully and completely, without so much as flinching. It was the same love he'd expressed for the past several thousand years in a million little, unspoken ways: an ox rib, a revolution, a church, a burning bookshop and the bottom of a glass and a lost best friend. A yellow Bentley, a lifetime of tethering his life to Aziraphale's, of trailing after him like a moth to flame—like a dog to its owner. "I love you," he pushed on. They were both looking directly into the sun again, Crowley urging them to stare straight into the heat of it all. The words were spilling out of him now, a heaving, thrashing current falling to the bookshop's hardwood floors. "I love you and you can't go to Heaven." Aziraphale froze, pupils blown wide and unblinking, for just a moment. Tension stretched out like a thread between them. And then he pulled in breath like a drowning man (who wasn't really a man at all), and tears were gathering in the corner of his eyes, and oh god, he'd made his angel cry. Fear and guilt and horror slammed into him at a million kilometers an hour and left him halfway between dizzy and nauseous. His fingers tensed at his side, desperate to do something, fix what he'd so obviously broken. Heaven would be on the front step any moment. It was too late, wasn't it? It was always too late. "Crowley—what?" Aziraphale breathed, mouth twisting into a brutal, terrible, heart-wrenching sob. Crowley ached, panic lancing through him like a knife. "I—I really, I can't. You could come with me." He stepped forward, moving to place his hands on the demon's shoulders. Crowley leaned into the touch, almost unconsciously. "Don't go," he croaked, tears beginning to prick his own eyes once again. This time he didn't reach for his glasses, didn't try to hide his fear. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. And then Aziraphale could hate him and his desperate, hungry, reverent love in the aftermath. "Don't go where I can't follow. Please".

His angels blue-grey eyes searched his own, and the weight of his gaze was impossibly heavy, pressing down on his chest like a river-smoothed rock. "Crowley, please. I don't understand. The Metatron said—" His palms found the sides of Crowley's throat, thumbs resting gently on the side of his jaw. Crowley sucked in a breath. "Angel," The scent of earl grey—of old books and soft tartan chairs. Aziraphale's hands were shaking. "I know what the Metatron said," he intoned, soft as rainfall. "You can't go. It's not—they won't change. You're better than that." "But you could be an angel. With me," he murmured, soft thumbs running across sharp cheekbones. "Be my second-in-command." "Don't want to be. Want t' be an us," he felt tears—traitorous, burning tears tip over the edge of his lashes and fall against his face. "Crowley, darling, please." A beat. "I love you." The bottom of the world dropped out from under him in that moment. Aziraphale loved him. He loved him and he'd said it aloud and now it was out there in the world and it was as though every nerve on his body was on fire. His angel pushed on, "Truly, I love you. I need you with me. Please, come with me. We can do good, I know it." He could never say no when his angel asked something of him. Especially not when his kind, gentle hands were holding him like something good, something precious. Especially not when Aziraphale had just admitted to needing him, had injected the word with so much warmth he thought his all-too-human heart might beat clear out of his chest. But there was a first (technically, second) time for everything. He drew in a heavy breath, and tilted his head, breaking his angel's hold on him. Aziraphale's hands—now empty, still shook. He made a soft whimpering sound, and Crowley ached to kiss his fingertips, banish the fear. But instead, he looked up towards the ceiling, to a God who was not there—who maybe had never been there at all. He felt the Heavenly Host drawing near, a sense of hollow emptiness, the scent of absence. This was the time of last-ditch efforts, of holding his heart out and hoping Aziraphale might take it as it was, bruised spots and all. "I can't. I won't. I need to be here, on Earth, with you." "Crowley, please. I don't think you understand what I'm offering you," he huffed. A residual shard of anger stabbed at him then, and he turned his gaze sharply back to the angel before him. "Oh, I understand perfectly well, angel. I'm fairly certain I understand better than you do." Aziraphale's mouth drew into a thin line, tears welling fresh in his eyes again. And still, Crowley ached. A beat. Something in the angel shifted, then, turned on its edge—the walls beginning to go up again, and it was just like it had been not fifteen minutes ago. He was watching the same moment play out over and over again; some cyclical, torrential nightmare. "I would like you to come with me, but," Aziraphale paused, voice breaking in the middle. "But I'm leaving, with or without you." And there it was, like it was predestined. Despite the love, despite the want, despite every shared bottle passed between them, every half-accidental touch and glance and whispered word—despite the way he would’ve let Aziraphale run a sword through his chest... It wasn't enough. It was never enough. They were re-enacting their old magic trick, right there in the bookshop, this time with Crowley staring down the barrel, letting Aziraphale pull the trigger. Aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear. Aziraphale wasn't shooting past his ear. His bloody ribcage felt as though it might splinter apart. Wingbeats in the distance, a grief wide enough to drown the sea. Crowley reached down, pulled his sunglasses from their resting spot against his clavicle. And then the hunger in his eyes was once more hidden, and he was walking towards the door like a man headed to execution. "Crowley—" Aziraphale nearly keened, the wall crumbling for a split second. Without turning, Crowley said the only words he could think of. "I forgive you."

[keenbugg]

i love hawkeye so much. i'm not kidding when i say i think he may be the best fictional character in anything ever. its so evil and cruel that i cant give him a hug

[alonetogether]

tears up. fall out boy. sorry i meant to be coherent but i see fall out boy and i cry. gay people <3

no like genuinely thank you fall out boy for my gay rights

[bumblingbabooshka]

write to me

[aidoriimu]

(c.) ideallyadored

March Promo !

☆: Hi hello, first of all— I'm Aeriko! To start, bullet points aren't really my style but it's the easiest way for me to deliver bite-sized chunks of info?

☆: I primarily yume Albedo and Tsumugi, with the rest being linked here.

☆ I use she/her, but I don't really mind which pronouns are used on me.

☆: This blog also serves as a mishmash of my writing and serves as a way to brush up my japanese a little, but I hope the tags are easy enough to navigate, on that note—

☆: I enjoy writing imagines!! They're tagged under (まるでの夢) , it makes me glad that people are enjoying them and I hope you'll continue to support my writing. 応援してください！

☆: Other than my f/os, I love all celestial bodies (planets, stars, moons, the sun), and lots of different anime.

☆: My main interests currently are Enstars, Genshin, TWST and recently.. Link Click (Shiguang Dailiren)

picrew (c.) me and my self-insert/oc, eria ☆

☆: I really like seeing oc x canon, and personally use it interchangeably with my yumeships. I especially do like seeing others' ships as well!

☆: I don't bite :3 But please do come to me first because my anxiety basically stops me from fully interacting with a person (although this notion can be overcome from time to time from the fact that I like people! and particularly, learning more about them :3c )

[kaleidoscopexsighs]

mitski really decided to sucker punch every wolfstar shipper with today’s one-two release of "star" (which is obviously after sirius falls through the veil) and "heaven" (when he and remus are reunited in the afterlife)

[goyurim]

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[turtlecleric]

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[dirtytransmasc]

the chokehold Alicent and Aegon's bond, the level of mommy issues the latter has, and just the raw emotion between the two of them, has on me is wild and I need to be put in some sort of rehab I think.

[virtualplushy]

I Do Not Feel Good!!!!!

[kozidraws]

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[change-the-rules]

*grabs your hands earnestly*

it's not about the Canon, that is not to invalidate any feelings that is to say we are fandom, our works are transformative because we take the bits and pieces of a something we love and we break it, take the pieces that speak to us a spin them into something that resonates, it's about the dynamics and the potential and putting characters we adore In Situations because the narrative failed them or it failed us, or for fun or for science or just because it's fucking hot, it's not that serious and it holds a certain gravitas

it's playing in the sandbox, pure and simple, beholding ourselves to Canon is the antithesis of Spirit of the thing

do you see?

[savage-rhi]

This certainly explains some recent shit...